1. Your eminent and envied abode, when the high-born vie,
Is Adnan, where palms are ripe fruit to pluck,

2. And glory dwells with Kais, and lineages pure,
On days of war, turbans white as pearls,

3. And days of peace, they don crowns.
Charging, hot the day, their blades aflame,

4. Feeding others, cool the winds their bread.
I envy not their vaunted glory,

5. Green the pasture, but you are Sa’dan.
A face so bright, a palm so fair,

6. Appear to all eyes virtue and grace.
Speak not of Ukaz, nor Ibn Sa’d,

7. Let talk of Qaram’s vines intoxicate you.
Look to the arena of the noble thronged

8. With Dijla’s swords, your swords among them.
Each verse I craft seeking the sublime

9. Is for one who aspires to ascendancy.
Within my breast words that, were I to vent them

10. Of cares, would wish for words a torrent.